


How Do You...?

by AlyKat



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint has two broken arms, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt, but it is funny that this is a thing people look up, do not google how to wipe with two broken arms, there's not a lot of useful information
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:14:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/pseuds/AlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint stared at his casts. How the mission had managed to go so pear shaped, so quickly, he still didn’t know. All he knew was that was the last time he risked his life to try and protect a little kid and her puppy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Do You...?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Westgate (Harkpad)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/gifts).



> Written quick and loose on Tumblr for Westgateoh who wanted Clint hurt/comfort. Hopefully this works! Enjoy!

Clint stared at his casts. How the mission had managed to go so pear shaped, so quickly, he still didn’t know. All he knew was that was the last time he risked his life to try and protect a little kid and her puppy. 

…okay, it probably wasn’t going to be the last time. 

Damn cute kids and their adorable fucking puppies being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

THAT was how he’d ended up in the awkward predicament he was currently in, in the first place! His left arm in a cast up to his elbow (it was a garish bright purple that brought him far more delight than it should. SHIELD medical liked him after all! Who knew!?), while his right hand had a cast wrapped around three of his fingers and down to his wrist (also that beautiful purple color). A broken arm and three broken (okay, two broken and one with a small hairline fracture. For the sake of things, it was three broken) fingers. 

He’d seen the little girl go rushing out into the spray, chasing after her terrified pup, and known he only had seconds to react. The building they were running towards was about to make a very loud boom and put a nice big hole in the ground. Diving for them, Clint had scooped up the dog, then the girl and rushed them back to – what he thought would be – safety. The building exploded not five seconds later, sending up an explosion of debris. Part of a wooden beam headed right for them and Clint lifted his arm to protect them from it (hence, the broken arm). The pain and force of it hitting had knocked Clint to his knees and his hold on the girl and her puppy fell as he used his right hand to brace himself up as he doubled over in quiet agony. …at least, his right hand WAS holding him up until the girl shrieked in terror and stomped on his fingers as hard as she possibly could (and who gave six year olds solid heeled boots like those? Who even made micro combat boots like that??), grabbed her puppy and ran off while Clint howled pathetically (…yeah, there’s the broken fingers). 

If anyone asked, it was a 6ft 8in, 350lb brute of a man who broke his fingers, and Clint sucked it up like the highly trained SHIELD agent he was.

Anyway, that was how Clint managed to wind himself back in medical. Again. With both hands out of commission for a while. 

The door to his room opened, and Clint felt the warmth washing up his neck to his ears before the person could even say a word. He knew what was coming. Coulson would have seen the reports by now. Especially the ones from medical. It was just a matter of –

“Taken down by a six year old and her puppy, hm?” 

– time…

Clint groaned, his chin dropping to his chest in defeat for just a moment. 

“Is this a scenario we need to worry about, Barton?” questioned Coulson, the teasing smirk evident in his voice. “Do we need to train future recruits on self-defense against young children and their fluffy pets?”

Lifting his head, Clint finally dared to meet Coulson’s gaze with a narrowed glare of his own. He deserved the ribbing, maybe, mostly. But getting his fingers broken by a six year old was still a better outcome to the alternative. So let the man have his fun for the moment. 

“If I’d been trained on it, I wouldn’t be here right now. So yeah, add it to the new recruit training program. Make Hill teach it.” Clint sniped back.

The corner of Phil’s mouth twitched. The jerk. 

“I’m not sure Maria is properly qualified to teach such an advanced self-defense class. We’ll leave that one to you.” Phil turned and motioned for Clint to follow him out the door. “The good news is, Dr. Clements says your fingers should be healed in four, possibly six, weeks. And they were pretty clean breaks, so your shooting shouldn’t be impaired.”

Shuffling along down the hall next to Phil, Clint quirked a brow and tilted his head in Phil’s direction. “What’s the bad news?” He asked. There was always bad news that followed good news. Always. 

“The bad news?”

“Yeah, the bad news. Give it to me straight, Coulson. I can handle it. Will I ever be able to play the violin again?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Phil answered with just the faintest of smirks playing across his face. “But you couldn’t play it to begin with, so, we shouldn’t worry about that, at the moment. You have bigger things to worry about.”

A small lump formed in Clint’s stomach. “Oh? What sort of bigger things?”

“Like, which apartment are you planning to stay at for the next few months? Mine or yours?”

The answer was automatic. “Yours. Bathroom’s bigger and cleaner, and don’t have to walk up a flight of stairs to get to it.”

Phil hummed in acknowledgement as he nodded. “Then we’ll need to go to your place first so I can help you pack. As much as you’re going to hate this, you’re going to need a lot of help for the next couple of months, at least, until one or both of your injuries are healed.” 

Slowly, a coy little smirk started to spread, tugging up the corner of Clint’s mouth until he was wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Phil. “Help, huh? Does this mean near daily showers with you? Having you dress me and undress me? Phil,” Clint’s voice dropped low and quiet, trying to keep the words from being overheard as they waited for the elevator. “this is going to be the least productive time of our lives. You might as well just let me walk around naked, be easier that way.”

Pink crawled up Phil’s neck in a way that made Clint want to wiggle in triumph. A year and eight months together, and Clint was still able to make Phil blush. 

The doors to the elevator opened and Phil took a purposeful stride in, leaving Clint to follow behind, still smirking proudly. Maybe having two busted wings wasn’t such a bad idea after all! 

Clint could only imagine how great it was going to be having Phil take care of him in all ways, all the time. Imagining Phil’s hands on him, helping him to get undressed at night and everything, how much sex it could probably lead to, and how Phil would –

Clint’s brain screeched to a halt. Wait…

“…Oh…” Clint breathed, his eyes wide in panic as he looked down at his hands, the garish purple causing a wave of nausea to wash over him. “Oh, shit…” 

No! Mouth! Wrong choice of words! 

“How am I supposed to…how do I…wha…are you going to have to…?”

Phil sighed, his eyes staring straight ahead as the elevator dinged and the doors began to close. When he spoke, his words were flat, dry, and just a bit more than a little resigned. Clearly, the bathroom issue was something Phil had already considered. 

“You are so lucky that I love you.”


End file.
